


Birth Day

by annabeth_at_the_helm



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Mpreg, Outtake, Vomiting, homophobic Trapper, mention of abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-20 18:24:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20232337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_at_the_helm/pseuds/annabeth_at_the_helm
Summary: Hawkeye ducks into the latrine and rubs his belly—swollen, hard, and aching. It's like he swallowed a tennis ball, and Hawkeye, as he drops to his knees to vomit into the odiferous hole, knows that that, combined with the constant nausea, leads to uncomfortable conclusions.





	Birth Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I Can't Make You Love Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20216959) by [annabeth_at_the_helm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_at_the_helm/pseuds/annabeth_at_the_helm). 

> I wrote this as an outtake for shadesofhades's birthday. It's a canon divergence of my WIP Big Bang that I wrote as a sequel to my homophobic Trapper fic. At one point in that sequel Hawkeye wanders into the latrine feeling nauseous, and Jen (in her infinite love of mpreg) immediately asked me why Hawkeye couldn't be pregnant. Well, it wouldn't work in that fic, but her birthday was coming up, so I wrote this instead!

Hawkeye starts to make his way to the mess tent, but realizes he's nauseous, and makes an abrupt turn towards the latrine. He doesn't remember drinking last night, but he feels vaguely hungover, with the press of the sun into his eyeballs making his stomach throb.

He ducks into the latrine and rubs his belly—swollen, hard, and aching. It's like he swallowed a tennis ball, and Hawkeye, as he drops to his knees to vomit into the odiferous hole, knows that that, combined with the constant nausea, leads to uncomfortable conclusions. He's a doctor, after all. He ought to recognize the symptoms, even if he didn't know he was a carrier.

No, he doesn't think he needs the blood test—the very, very risky blood test. He knows what's wrong with him isn't as simple as drinking too much last night—or the last few months—or a hangover, but something more insidious, something that could lead to the destruction of more than just an army career, but a life.

Hawkeye spits bile into the noxious hole and rubs at his thudding stomach again.

Oh, God, he really is. He definitely, irrefutably is. He's _pregnant._

Trapper is _not_ going to be happy.

But what did he expect? He fucked Hawkeye multiple times without using protection, and now he's going to have to reap the consequences of what he's sown. Because there is no way _in hell_ Hawkeye is facing up to this responsibility alone. He might be the mother—er, so to speak—but Trapper's the daddy, and Hawkeye can't very well do this alone, anyway. God, no. Someone has to do the surgery when it's time for the baby to be born, and no one can afford to find out about this.

Actually, Hawkeye's not completely sure that Trapper won't tell someone—maybe even Frank—just to get Hawkeye as far away from him as possible, but it doesn't matter; Trapper needs to know, and Hawkeye kind of wants him to be as miserable as Hawkeye feels.

Which is, of course, right when the latrine door bangs open to admit the very person he's been thinking of, and Hawkeye, stomach still heaving slightly like a ship on a choppy ocean, fumbles himself to a sitting position on the ground.

"What's up?" he says, and then, "the sky, thanks for asking."

Trapper gives him an inscrutable look.

"What are ya doing down there, Hawk?" he asks, eyes narrowed against the sun glare from the cracks in the walls, and maybe for other reasons as well, like the fact that he probably isn't happy to see Hawkeye in the latrine right now. Because, for all intents and purposes, they're alone now. Together.

Which is what Trapper was probably trying to avoid by telling Hawkeye he was going to the latrine, instead of being willing to meet Hawkeye in the supply tent.

"Oh, you know, just didn't feel like vomiting in the middle of the mess tent," he says. "People might get confused, thinking that the food they serve looks just like it."

"That's disgustin', Hawk," Trapper says. Hawkeye shrugs, trying to ignore the stab of nausea it elicits in his belly.

"That's just the mess tent food, you know it's the truth," Hawkeye says, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Trapper anymore.

"Are ya really—" there's a soft, warm hand against his clammy forehead, suddenly, and Hawkeye has to squeeze his eyes hard to stave off tears; this is the first time in a long while that Trapper has touched him so gently, for no other reason than _care_. "Really vomiting? Too much to drink?"

Hawkeye opens his eyes, focuses on the hazel eyes inches from his. "Ask yourself, did you see me drinking last night?"

"If not that, then… stomach flu? Have ya been washing your hands regularly? Do I need to warn Henry about a possible epidemic after I get ya to bed?"

Hawkeye holds his gaze, filling his with intensity that Trapper can't ignore; their gazes lock, and the feeling makes Hawkeye's nerves crackle. He can almost see the electricity in the air. Thank goodness his stomach is still roiling, or he'd be tempted to take advantage. As it is, he wishes that their chemistry wasn't so strong.

He grabs for Trapper's hand, finding it after a moment without looking, and pulls it down to the hard, round swelling of his belly.

"I'm pregnant," he says. Trapper's eyes goggle almost comically, and he cups his hand, rubbing, turning his thumb round and examining him.

"You're sure it's not…" but he trails off, because he's a doctor. He would have done part of his residency in obstetrics, too. He can't explain the physical evidence away any more than Hawkeye can.

"I'd say I'm about three months gone," Hawkeye says. "And, you know, Trap, the last person I fucked…"

He waits for Trapper to put the pieces together; he's personally quite gratified when those hazel eyes go a little greener and widen. Trapper knows.

"Was me," he finishes, voice a little choked. But Hawkeye doesn't think that's a tender emotion making the frog in his throat. "It was me. You're sure?"

"Listen, Romeo, you stole my heart. I haven't touched another person in months. I haven't even been chasing nurses, which you've probably noticed. As of now, I probably should start chasing ambulances."

Trapper pulls his hand away with a sharp yank. He doesn't look moved by the idea of Hawkeye's belly swelling with his baby. He looks less enamoured and more furious, though to be fair, Hawkeye's pretty furious too: but with Trapper, for the near-rape and the bad sex and the lack of commitment combined with a general lack of caution.

"Get rid of it," Trapper says. "You can't do this here. You can't do this to me."

"Oh, for—_I_ didn't do this. You may have checked out during the creation process, but it was definitely your naked cock entering me those times, your semen that took root here, and I barely had a say. I didn't even derive any pleasure from it!"

"Oh, really? You sure were quick to get my pants off, Hawkeye. Ya couldn't _wait_ to get your hands on me—"

"Trapper John McIntyre, you as good as raped me that first time! Pretty rich for you to talk about me trying to get into your pants. And—"

They both hear it at the same time: footsteps coming closer, and realize that their voices have been climbing in volume. Trapper gives him a dirty look.

"I'll sign out the meds," he says, pushing away from Hawkeye. "Take them and get rid of it."

And then he's gone. Hawkeye doesn't think he even realizes he didn't take the piss he came in here for. Hawkeye sighs, at a loss.

It's true that this is an untenable situation, that he _should_ get rid of it, but the problem is that this is not an "it" to him anymore, but a baby, a real living thing growing inside of him. And Hawkeye doesn't want to terminate his pregnancy. He knows he doesn't have a lot of options, but that one ought to be at the bottom.

But how can he get through this without Trapper's help?

++

That night, lying sleepless in his cot, the Swamp door bangs, and Trapper's face appears in the well of light above Hawkeye's bunk. He's got a little cup in his hand, and he holds it out.

"Take them now, before Frank gets back from the latrine. And in about an hour, meet me in the OR and I'll do the D&C."

"No," Hawkeye says firmly. He pushes the little cup back towards Trapper. Trapper's eyes widen, his nostrils flaring.

"Whaddya mean, no? This some kinda fuckin' joke to ya, Hawk?" he asks angrily.

"It's deadly serious, thank you, and I'm telling you no. I don't want to terminate."

"Well, you can't just—"

"Fuck me, Trapper. Are you going to tell me I can't have a say about it myself, that only your opinion counts? Like in the supply tent the first time?"

"Hawkeye, you'll lose everythin'!" Trapper hisses, losing his temper. "You'll get thrown out of the army, and probably lose your medical license—"

Hawkeye rolls on the cot to face him better. "Or," he adds, cynically, "do you think _you'll_ lose everything, and that's your real motivation?" As Trapper starts to sputter, Hawkeye continues, "well, it's too bad. I'm not going to terminate. This baby is—"

"_Hawkeye_," Trapper says urgently, "yeah, it'd be a disaster for me, but that's not the point. The point is even if ya keep this a secret successfully, you won't be able to keep the baby. Don' ya get that?"

Hawkeye blinks, then reaches down to cover his stomach, as if he can protect his baby from the truth of Trapper's words—truth he hadn't wanted to let himself examine on his own. But of course, Trapper's right. He could hide the pregnancy, he could have Trapper deliver the baby, but he could never explain where it came from.

"I'm still not going to kill our child," Hawkeye says. Then he has an idea. "No one would question it if you showed up with a baby and said you'd fathered it on a Korean girl—"

"First of all, fuck no. Couldya imagine what that would do to my wife? Secondly, don't you realize that would still mean givin' it up? This is easier, Hawk. Before ya get attached."

"I'm already attached," Hawkeye says angrily. "This is my body—"

"I ain't gonna let you ruin my life," Trapper says, "or you're own. Take the pills, Hawkeye."

Hawkeye rolls to the other side, prepared to shut Trapper out until he goes away, when the door bangs open.

"Oh, I see," Frank says, "plotting again, are we? Well, it won't work."

"Hi, Frank," Trapper says tiredly.

"It won't work!" Frank repeats in a high-pitched voice, practically scurrying over to his bed like the rats that live in the Swamp.

Trapper stands up; Hawkeye can hear the joints of his knees creak. He's escaped this time, but for how long?

++

For the next month, Hawkeye is very careful about what he eats and drinks. He doesn't _think_ Trapper would poison his food with abortifacients, but he doesn't trust him now. He's not even sure he can ask the man to deliver his baby now.

Trapper, for his part, pretends like Hawkeye doesn't exist. He barely acknowledges his presence in the OR, and he never speaks to him at any other time. Frank spends most of his time pointing this out and tittering, like he's benefiting from their rift.

But the truth is, now Trapper and Hawkeye are unofficially trying to one-up each other in pranking him. If anything, things are worse for Frank than before, but the man's an idiot; he can only see the fact that Trapper and Hawkeye aren't getting along, and it thrills him.

Late one night, when Hawkeye's four months along, he's lying in bed, cupping his belly, which is really starting to show now, and worrying.

Trapper's somewhere behind him in the Swamp, playing solitaire, and Frank is shaving, getting ready for a date with Hot Lips, even though he won't admit to it—like usual.

"Red queen on the black king…" Trapper mutters, and Hawkeye rolls his eyes. Trapper isn't even good at solitaire.

"Smooth as a baby's bottom!" Frank announces, then giggles. What does _that_ mean? Does Frank suspect something? "Well, I'll see you two miscreants later!" he says, with a high laugh, and bangs out of the Swamp.

"Hey, Trap," Hawkeye tries, even though he knows Trapper will likely just ignore him. "I do need a surgeon."

"I ain't gettin' involved," Trapper says darkly. "Ya lay in your bed, Hawk. You're the one who's bein' so goddamn impossible."

"I _am_ in my bed," Hawkeye says acerbically, then adds, "oh, is that not what you meant? Did you mean metaphorically, Trap?"

"Leave me outta this," Trapper insists angrily. "I ain't—"

"This is _your_ baby too," Hawkeye snaps. "I'm not going to die from labor because you won't help me."

There's suddenly a fraught silence in the tent, charged and angry but with something else beneath it. It takes a moment, but Hawkeye recognizes it: fear.

Trapper hadn't thought about the fact that, if he didn't do the surgery, the labor would kill Hawkeye and the baby both. And he's pretty sure Trapper doesn't want him to die.

"Fine," Hawkeye says, after the silence stretches unbearably long. "I'll just ask Henry to do it."

"Ya can't!" Trapper's boots stomp over, and then he grabs Hawkeye by the shoulder and yanks him around. "Henry'd find out about me," he says. "D'ya think it would be difficult to figure out?"

"Trap, you're the one who has been acting suspicious for a month," Hawkeye says. "Just do the fucking surgery, Trap. It's easier that way _and_ your secret's safe that way."

"Fine," Trapper echoes. "But we're gonna have to leave camp to do it." His eyes are glittering in the low light, and Hawkeye releases a sigh. He doesn't like this situation any better than Trapper does, but they don't exactly have a lot of choices.

And then a cramp bursts in his belly, widening like a chasm and splitting him in two, and Hawkeye's eyes fly wide and he can only gasp as he reaches for Trapper's palm.

Trapper starts to pull away, but Hawkeye's eyes are filling with tears at the pain. Trapper must be able to see that, because he starts to lean down.

"What's the matter with ya?" he asks. "You ain't cryin' because—"

"Pain," Hawkeye gasps, "in my lower belly. You have to keep me from losing the baby, Trap. Please."

Trapper stares at him incredulously. "Are ya joking? You should just let it happen, Hawk. It's better for everyone involved."

"Not for the baby!" Hawkeye gasps, doubling up in his cot, rolling his spine and shoulders down over his stomach with the pain.

"All right, c'mon," Trapper says. "But just remember, Hawk, ya can't tell anyone who its parents are." He hauls Hawkeye to his feet and helps him out of the Swamp. It's getting late, and when Klinger stops them at his patrol, Trapper grunts something about Hawkeye being drunk and needing the latrine, and then they sneak off towards the hospital building.

Halfway there, Hawkeye gasps again and his knees go weak. "Oh, fuck. I think it's just gas," he says, with a laugh. "I can stand. No x-rays for me. I'll meet you back at the Swamp."

"No one can know, Hawkeye," Trapper says in a fierce tone. "No one. Not even Father Mulcahy. This… this has to be a secret to end all secrets. And then it has to go… to someplace safe."

When Hawkeye realizes that Trapper means leaving his baby in a Korean orphanage, he almost tries his own hand at punching someone. Because how can he give her up? He's already thinking of names, and how to get her back to the States… and Trapper's still utterly unmoved.

Hawkeye doesn't think that's ever going to change, either. He frowns, but waves Trapper off and makes for the latrine.

He shouldn't be surprised. Trapper's been trying to make this go away for a month. He doesn't—he _can't_—have anything to do with this baby. He still won't admit it's half his fault. Hawkeye's convinced by this point that Trapper just assumes he's a whore and the baby could belong to anyone; that he's not even the father.

_And if he admitted to it?_ a little voice flutters inside. _Do you think he'd really change his mind? He's got a lot to lose if anyone finds out._

"And so do I," Hawkeye mutters under his breath. But the thing is, he'd give up his life for his child.

It's just disappointing and a damn shame that Trapper doesn't feel the same way.

++

The pains wake Hawkeye up, but thankfully they're already in Tokyo, and even though Trapper's swiped supplies and prepped everything for a hotel room surgery, Hawkeye's worried. The blood, for one thing. No surgery is bloodless.

And the sudden appearance of a baby, for another—but now it's too late to worry anymore; it's time.

"Trap!" he hurls into the darkness like a bullet. In moments Trapper's standing over him, watching his face, which feels pale like whey.

And five minutes after that, Hawkeye's eyes are closing. It's time…

++

"Ya have to carry her," Trapper says. "This is your story."

"But, Trap, the blond hair—"

"I still ain't sayin' a word," Trapper says, bundling the baby into swaddling and handing her to Hawkeye. But his eyes linger on her face, and Hawkeye feels something bloom in his heart.

"Should we just desert?" Hawkeye asks playfully, but Trapper's eyes darken. Then he leans over and brushes the back of his hand across the baby's forehead.

"Ya know what, I wish we could," he says, then turns back to the road, waiting for the rickshaw. "Just don't forget your story," he says.

"American GI came to us, obviously heavily pregnant, and we did everything we could, but he died during delivery without giving us his name, and his dog tags were missing, we think deliberately removed to keep his identity hidden," Hawkeye recites dutifully. They'd spent the night thinking up scenarios while watching Hattie sleep.

"And you're going to send her to your dad," Trapper adds, as if Hawkeye needs to be reminded. "The blond hair and blue eyes are a dead giveaway."

The rickshaw pulls up, and they don't speak again for awhile.

++

_Dear Hawkeye,_

_ The baby you sent home to me is flourishing. She's got the prettiest hazel eyes now, and she just turned one. They flash green in certain lighting. Someday you have to tell me how you got permission to keep her when she was basically dumped in your lap._

_ Anyway, we're good here. I'm still hoping every day that you get to come home. This little girl really wants to meet her daddy. Her first word was "da-da" even._

_ Keep writing to me, Hawkeye. Even with Hattie here, it's all I have. I need to hear your voice again soon._

_ And I really want your opinion on something, but I can't put it in a letter. I'll ask you when you get home._

_ Love, Dad._


End file.
